CHAPTER XXXI.

THE city of Havana is surrounded by walls, and is defended to the westward by two massive forts, Atares and San Carlos del Principi, while the entrance to the peerless harbor is guarded by the Moro and Punta. The hills rise up like an amphitheatre from the bay, fringed along their summits by palm trees, which often appear like a green tracery upon the intense blue of the heavens. The Intramuros, that portion of the city without the walls, is very confined, and the streets narrow; but within them there is a large city with broad streets, fine spacious houses, and splendid paseos. This is styled Estramuros.

The multitudes of negroes here, strike a stranger as remarkable. There certainly must be five negroes to one white person. There are but few mulattoes; apparently, admixture of blood is quite unusual. The slaves are certainly the happiest and most independent-looking people imaginable. They are smiling and talkative, full of grimace and gesture.

The cries in the streets are ceaseless. Men with long poles, upon which are strung embroideries and laces, scream out the excellence of the articles; quickly follows a stout Congo negro, with plantains and oranges; then come along

poor little horses, covered up with green stalks of maize, as though they were moving corn-fields; then the man with his cow to be milked in the patio, and the vender of rain-water. In the midst of all these discordant sounds peal forth the tones of the trumpet, and squadrons of horse dash down the streets, regiments of soldiers march through them, and long lines of the chain-gang, with heavy manacles, pass to and fro to the Punta prison. At evening we drove to that gloomy Punta prison, and around it, to the spot were poor Lopez was garroted. Then we saw the beach upon which the fifty Americans were shot. It is barren and desolate, like a desert amid the rich vegetation around it. No blade of grass has ever sprung up since the earth was flooded with the life-blood of those hapless and wretched men. The remembrance of their cruel fate came over us as a cloud, which it required many an effort to dispel.

Feb, 2d. 1855.-At early morning we ran down to the Cortina, where there is a monument to Valdez, and a fountain falling into the bay. A sweet quietude prevailed, and the "norther " had subsided to a gentle wind, (still too chill for this clime of the south.) As we lingered to enjoy the scene, numerous bells began ringing, and priests came hurrying along. One of them told us it was a saint's day, and that high mass would be said by the bishop in the cathedral. By ten o'clock we were seated within this building, consecrated not only by the solemnities of holy religion, but sacred as containing the ashes of Columbus. These are in an urn, imbedded in the wall. There is a bust in basso relievo of the great Discoverer, with an inscription, telling the gratitude of the Spanish nation. The body of Columbus has not even been tranquil in its grave. Eager hands have removed it from place to place, and gallant ships have borne it over the vast ocean first traversed by his humble and deck

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less caravel. He died at Valladolid, in old Spain, in 1506, and was buried in the convent of San Francisco. Thence the body was removed to Sevilla; then to Hispaniola; and in 1795 it was brought in great state to Havana, and landed upon the beautiful island given by him to the Old World. Solemn masses were said, and the Governor received the precious remains, and, followed by a grand procession, bore them to the cathedral, where they have since remained. Washington Irving, in his admirable history of the "Life and Voyages of Columbus," has given a graphic and eloquent description of the pageant which accompanied the landing and transportation of the body to its last sepulchre. Not far from the urn is a small painting, representing the mass, uttered by a cardinal, just as Columbus was departing in his small vessel.

As there were no pews, or benches, a negro-servant brought in a little carpet, and placed it on the stone pavement. Following him came his mistress, who knelt upon it. All classes of people meet as equals within the aisles of the churches. The noblest lady, kneeling on her gorgeous carpet, has often by her side a poor old negro, with garments ragged and torn. There were many priests officiating, and all the dignitaries of the island held immense candles in their hands.

At night we went to a tertulia (evening party) given by Mrs. Crawford, the handsome wife of the British ConsulGeneral of the West Indies. They live without the walls, in a splendid and spacious mansion, where there are fresco ceilings and floors of marble. Many of the British officers were present. The admiral is a fine, gallant-looking old man. Our admiration, however, was quite divided between the elegant captain of the Espiegle and the charming chaplain of the Boscawen, who was a wonderful man in the way of a

clergyman, He was a frantic polka-dancer, an indefatigable waltzer, and unwearying quadriller. When we had broken through the early mists of conversation, we remarked to him that he was quite a miracle to us, combining the minister with the realization of our American idea of a fast man. He looked amazed, exclaiming, "Good gracious! are not your chaplains allowed to dance? Why, religion makes people happy, and happy people delight in dancing." He was very merry, and " a man of infinite jest; narrating, in

a pleasant way, incidents of life in the Baltic, the Indian Ocean, and in the Gulf. As we were talking, between the intervals of the dances, up started a grave-visaged man, and sang a rattling, funny song. "Who is he?" we asked of our polka-chaplain. "The clergyman of the other ship," he replied. So we concluded the religious fraternity of her Majesty's service must be a jolly, mirthful set of men.

There were many lovely Havaneras at the tertulia, and several performed exquisitely upon the piano-forte. During the evening a pretty, fairy-like girl was invited to sing. After some entreaty she consented, and blushingly began the recitativo of "Casta Diva." Her voice was of wonderful power and sweetness, and her perfect grace of execution and expression were worthy even of the lamented Sontag. She was a native of Havana, and had never left her islandhome. Rarely even in "the land of music, fair Italy," have we heard a more enrapturing cantatrice. The charming young hostess, Mrs. Crawford, presented us to her. The name of the beautiful songstress was Conchita Rios. She was a darling little creature, with bewitching eyes, large and liquid, fringed with long dark lashes. Her mouth was a mingling of the coral and the pearl; her complexion clear and pale, and the most winning grace in her words and ges

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tures. Music is a passion among the Cubans; hence they excel in it.

Feb. 3d, 1855.-This morning we had a visit from. Dr. Carl Scherzer, a geologist, sent out by the Austrian Government to explore the buried cities of Central America. He is a noble specimen of a man, full of enthusiasm and intellect. He gave us many graphic descriptions of his two years' sojourn beneath the shadows of the great volcanoes, and amid the dense and pathless forests covering the temples of a lost and unknown religion. Dr. Scherzer had also passed some time in Hayti, where he had been presented to the black Emperor Faustin and his Empress, with the stately ceremonies of the French court. He laughingly told me he was almost ashamed of his color while in Hayti, for a white man was looked upon with supreme contempt; and often, as he walked along the streets, negroes would say, "Bon jour, Blanc!" in a scornful tone. None but those of intense black color were deemed worthy of the high honors of the empire.

In the afternoon Mrs. M'Gregor, the pretty wife of the kindest, merriest Scotchman, Mr. Jemmie M'Gregor, sent her elegant volante for us, and we drove about fifteen miles into the country, passing many of the huts of the guagiros, or monteros, a peculiar type of people, said to retain many of the characteristics of the Indians, once the happy possessors of Cuba. These huts are covered with palm leaves, and are without windows. They are usually built under the shade of the papayo, or other fruit-bearing tree. These people have the look of European gipsies, and the men are very comely, and fantastically dressed. The women weave straw hats and mats, and their "lords of creation" sell the fruit they gather, or the green corn grown upon the little

fields in the midst of the forest.